


Bad Life Decisions

by thesaddestboner



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Amnesia, Blackouts, Concussions, Drunk Sex, Implied Relationships, Infidelity, M/M, New Jersey Devils, New York Rangers, Not!Fic, Possible Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 04:25:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/657988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner/pseuds/thesaddestboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Alcohol was not his friend.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Life Decisions

**Author's Note:**

> I started this for the trope fic meme, but it died on me.
> 
> There wasn't actually going to be any drunk (or amnesiac, concussed) sex—I think Marty was just supposed to believe it had happened and Sean was going to play along to fuck with him—but the possibility was there, at least in this unfinished fic scrap. I think that's actually why it died; what would Sean get out of playing along, anyway?
> 
> So, yeah.
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

It only took waking up to a pounding hangover and another person he didn’t know sharing his bed to come a sudden realization: alcohol was not his friend. 

Or, more accurately, alcohol was the shitty friend that took him out, got him drunk and sent him home with a woman he’d never fuck if he were sober. It was a fucked up, codependent relationship and he only wished he’d realized this years and years ago, when he was just a dumb sixteen year old kid, driven crazy by hormones, a beautiful girl, and his first sips of beer.

Marty dragged a hand slowly over his face, felt the five o’ clock stubble—no, more like ten o’ clock stubble now—rasp against his palm. When was the last time he’d gotten out of this bed? He couldn’t honestly remember. The sheets were stiff with—God, he didn’t even want to know. They were expensive, a high thread count, too. He was obviously in a hotel. Marty might have been a high roller, but he didn’t have sheets this nice on his bed back home. 

He knew he was in New Jersey, at least. That was a start. He was in New Jersey for some sort of memorabilia signing with a couple of teammates. They’d also made plans to go out for drinks after the signing was over, which they did. And that was where the trail went cold. The rest of the previous night was nothing but a blur of alcohol, alcohol, sex, alcohol, sex, and more alcohol.

He studied the arm that had flopped out from under a pile of blankets, and wondered who it belonged to. It couldn’t possibly have belonged to his wife, who was back home in Montréal with the children. And he never would have hooked up with a teammate. He might have been a bit of a cad, but he would never have dipped his pen in the company ink, so to speak.

Marty peeled back one of the blankets and examined the inked script on the inside of the other person’s arm. _You used to be alright, what happened?_

“Huh,” Marty muttered to himself. “Good question.”

The person beside him began to stir and made noises—noises that were definitely not coming from a woman.

 _Shit._ Marty pressed his hands over his face. _I brought a fucking_ guy _to my room?_

“What time’s it,” came a muffled voice.

Marty glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. “ ’s about noon,” he said, picking at a loose thread in the comforter. “Uh, d’you remember what happened last night?”

The guy who was sharing Marty’s bed pushed the covers off his head and grinned up at him.

Marty’s stomach dropped. He’d know that smile, those _eyes_ anywhere.

He nearly tripped over his own feet as he stumbled out of the bed, gathering the comforter around his waist.

“Avery!” Marty wrapped the comforter around himself. “The fuck are you doing here?”

Sean Avery, who symbolized pretty much everything that was wrong with society these days, stretched out leisurely on the mattress and crossed his arms beneath his head. “Good morning to you too.”

“Answer my fucking question.” Marty tried his best to sound intimidating, but he was honestly freaking out a little bit. Did this mean he— _Tabarnac!_ —fucked Sean Avery? Did they come up here together? What if someone saw them? What if someone had taken a _picture_?

Avery shrugged. “You invited me up here,” he said.

Marty shook his head vehemently, only stopping when the beginnings of a headache began to press in on his sinuses. “No, no, I would never do that. That’s a lie. You’ve gotta be lying.”

Avery pushed himself up into sitting position and leveled a smirk Marty’s way. “Wouldn’t lie about that,” Avery said, but Marty still didn’t, no, _refused_ to believe him.

 _A flash of teeth, that smirk—that smirk on his skin, a hand—_ his _hand in short brown hair, a mouth on his skin moving down warm and wet and_ Marty shook his head and blinked his eyes.

“What’sa matter with you?” Avery asked. “Musta got hit harder than I thought.”

“What?” Marty asked, looking up. “What happened last night?”

“We went out, found a local dive,” Avery said. “Got wasted, then started back for your hotel and you tripped on something. Broken piece of sidewalk, I guess. Banged your head on a lamppost. Funniest fuckin’ thing I ever saw. Your head fuckin’ _bounced_. It was sick.” Avery pulled _that_ mouth of his into a grin.

Marty touched his forehead and winced. A knot had already formed. He was sure it looked lovely. “Great. And then once we got back to the room, you took advantage of a drunken, injured man. I hope you feel proud of yourself, Avery,” Marty sneered.

“Hey now,” Avery said, planting his feet in the carpet and standing up. “I didn’t make you do anything you didn’t wanna do, man.”

“I was drunk and possibly concussed!” Marty glared at him.

Avery glared back, narrowing sharp green eyes into dangerous slits. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You better not be sayin’ what it sounds like you’re sayin’.”

“I’m sure this is nothing new for you, Avery,” Marty quipped, gathering the comforter around his waist. Marty tried to maneuver around him, but Avery grabbed him by the arm, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“ _You_ were the one who did all the fuckin’, _and_ you seemed to enjoy it, so get off your high horse,” Avery said, sotto voce, as if he was afraid the walls were listening in.

Something pinged at the back of Marty’s brain. More dark, hazy mental images, fragments of the previous night, began flickering in his mind like sputtering flames. _His hands, the curve of Avery’s spine, the damp hairs at the back of Avery’s neck, sweat-slick skin sliding against sweat-slick skin, the way their bodies fit together perfectly and_ Marty forced the images out of his brain.

“Did you put something in my drink?” he asked. It seemed like a reasonable question, considering he could barely remember what happened the night before. And he wouldn’t put it past Avery to do something like that.

“Fuck _no_ I didn’t put anything in your drink,” Avery spluttered. “I don’t need to drug people to get them to fuck me.” He sat on the edge of the bed and began groping along the floor, presumably for his clothing.

Marty sighed and tightened the comforter around his shoulders. “I’ve got a killer headache,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

Avery grunted. “I’ve got some Excedrin in my bag if you’re interested.”

“Thanks but no thanks,” Marty said, snagging a pair of boxers he was pretty sure were his off the TV set. He slipped into them and dropped the comforter.

“So I guess you’re just gonna be a whiny bitch today, then?” Avery stood and turned toward, Marty, a pair of faded blue jeans in his hands.

 _Hands—Avery’s hands?—tugging off his blue jeans, snaking up his thighs, his mouth tastes like smoke and Hennessy—_ Marty blinked rapidly, and the images and senses dissipated like smoke. It was a truly weird feeling, having lost a huge chunk of the previous night. He felt disconnected from himself. And worse yet, the person who remembered everything was _Avery_. Marty sneered at the thought of Avery having that much control over him.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Avery said, barging into Marty’s thoughts uninvited. He stooped down and stepped into his blue jeans, pulling them up and snapping the button. The jeans rode low though, and Marty could see that there was a constellation of eggplant-colored bruises at his hipbone. Marty played connect-the-dots with the bruises on Avery’s hip in his head and mapped out the shape of his hand.

“I must’ve grabbed you awfully hard, huh?” Marty said.

Avery looked down and tugged at the waist of his jeans. “I guess so,” he said with a shrug.

“Did it hurt?” Marty asked.

“Kinda sore,” Avery said, looking up and smirking, “but the good kind.”

Marty shook his head and pressed a hand to his face which was, in hindsight, a mistake. A sharp pain stabbed through his skull, staggering him, nearly bringing him to his knees. A hand wrapped around his upper arm, and he hadn’t realized Avery had closed the distance between them so quickly.

“ ’m fine,” Marty grumbled, trying to jerk away, but Avery wouldn’t let him go.

“No you’re not,” he said. Avery tried to tug him toward the bed, but Marty dug his heels in.

“No, I said I’m fine,” he insisted, twisting his arm out of Avery’s grip.

Avery let him go. “I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care if you don’t believe me.” Marty rubbed absent-mindedly at his arm, where Avery had gripped him. “You should go.”

Avery shrugged. “Whatever, man.” He turned and headed for the door.

Marty wandered over to the bed and sank into the mattress. The memories were there, just beyond his grasp. He knew they were. He just couldn’t access them. Marty groaned and lowered his head into his hands.

“The fuck did you do to yourself, anyways?” Avery asked from the doorway.

“I thought I told you to leave,” Marty grumbled into his hands.

“Stop dodging the question and maybe I will,” Avery said.

Marty sighed and looked up. Avery watched him closely with a lazy, lizard-eyed gaze. “I don’t remember,” Marty snapped.

Avery leaned back against the door and crossed his arms over his chest. “What d’you think it’s gonna take for you to get your memory back?”

“Why do you care?” Marty asked.

Avery smirked. “Did I say I cared?”

Marty sighed and kicked his feet like a child. He was being immature, he was all too aware, but he hated this. He was practically at the mercy of Sean Avery and the thought was pretty damn disturbing.

“Maybe—maybe I should retrace my steps,” Marty said, mostly to himself, dropping his head back into his hands.

“Maybe you should,” Avery chimed in. “I think it really would be easier if we did this together.”

Marty glared at him through his fingers. “You’re not going to leave me alone until I give in and say yes, are you?”

“You know me too well.” Avery grinned.

Marty dropped his hands. “I guess you can tag along then. But I’m warning you, don’t piss me off.”

“I won’t, promise. I’ll be on my best behavior. Scout’s honor.”

Marty shook his head and rolled his eyes. He knew he was going to regret allowing Avery to come along. That insistent voice at the back of his head screamed at him to just ditch Avery and strike out on his own, Avery was nothing but trouble and he _knew_ this, but he just pushed it aside and began to dress.

-

Once Marty was finally dressed, the two of them left the hotel and began walking in no particular direction. Marty led, and Avery followed. To Avery’s credit, he didn’t speak unless spoken to, but Marty still had that uncomfortable, itchy feeling under his skin, like Avery was just silent because he was plotting evil and it was taking up all his available brain cells.

Marty walked with his head down, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his heavy winter coat. He wore a wool cap, pulled down low over his eyes and he looked fairly anonymous, which was what he was going for. Avery, on the other hand, was wearing flashy, stylish clothes that screamed, “Pay attention to me!” He shouldn’t have been surprised by that.

Marty kept what he felt was a safe distance between them. He didn’t want someone to recognize him, and then wonder what he was doing with Avery in New York City. That one was just screaming “clusterfuck.”

“Hey, wait up,” Avery huffed behind him, feet slapping on the pavement.

“Try to keep up, Avery,” Marty said, not slowing his pace.

“Where are we even going?” Avery complained, voice rising to a childish whine that sounded a lot like fingernails scratching on a blackboard.

“The bar I went to last night,” Marty snapped, walking briskly.

“You remember what bar you went to, but not what happened after?” Avery asked.

“No.” Marty came to a stop in front of where he believed the bar to be. A flickering neon sign announced that the place was named **Henry’s Sports Bar and Grille**. “This is it. Has to be.”

“You sure?” Avery asked.

Marty shot him an indignant glare. “Don’t be stupid, Avery.” He glanced back at the building’s façade. “I’ll go in. You wait out here, and don’t do anything stupid.” Marty paused and smirked. “Maybe I should rephrase that. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Avery laughed. “That’s not exactly sound advice either,” he said, flashing Marty a smug grin.

“Fuck off.” Marty gave him a shove just because and stomped into the place, fuming.

He made his way to the bar and took a seat. A TV mounted on the wall to Marty’s left was showing highlights from that day’s NFL matchup, and the TV to his right was showing a debate between two pompous political commentators with bad hairpieces.

Marty dug into a dish of peanuts and tossed a few into his mouth, glanced around. The bar didn’t seem familiar, though. He had expected feelings, senses to come rushing back at him, the way they did in the hotel room, when he thought about—whatever it was he’d done with Avery. Marty sighed and pushed the dish of peanuts away.

“What’ll it be?” A bartender materialized out of nowhere and began to wipe down the counter in front of Marty.

“Oh, uh, nothing for me,” Marty said. “Was I in here the other night? With a short, kind of yappy guy?” Marty gestured to his chest to indicate Avery’s approximate height.

The bartender just shrugged. “I worked here all last night and I don’t remember you,” he said.

“So I wasn’t in here last night?” Marty asked.

“Nope.” The bartender gave him a look.

“Okay. Thanks.” Marty gave the guy a tip for his trouble and headed back outside.

Avery was gone.

Marty cursed and kicked the side of the building savagely. He should have known better. Of course Avery would wander way, get himself into some sort of trouble.

“Fuck it,” Marty grumbled. “He wants to get into trouble on his own time, that’s his problem.” He turned and started in the direction of the hotel when someone grabbed him from behind. Marty whirled around, fists flying.

“Whoa. It’s only me.” Avery pushed him back. “The fuck’s your deal?”

“Where were you?” Marty asked, forcing his heart out of his throat and back where it belonged, in his chest.

“Just went off to buy a paper,” Avery said, with a sneer, tucking the newspaprt under his arm. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket and fiddled with them but didn’t take a cigarette out. “So it wasn’t the place, was it?”

Marty scowled. “No.”

“Needle in a haystack, man. Needle in a fuckin’ haystack.” Avery smirked and slid the cigarette between his lips. “Let’s just head back to the hotel. You had a rough night, you’d probably be better off just sleeping it off or something.”

“I lost my fucking _memory_ , Avery. I’m not just going to _sleep it off_ ,” Marty snapped. “Someone might’ve drugged me.”

Avery just shook his head and produced a lighter. He cupped his hand around the flame protectively, and took a long drag from the cigarette. “You didn’t get drugged. You just went on a bender and blacked out or something.”

“I guess you’d know all about that, then.” Marty made a face. “Smoking kills.”

“We’re all gonna die eventually. Some just go faster than others,” Avery chirped, tucking the lighter into his jacket pocket.

Marty sighed, the anger he felt toward Avery funneling out of him like sands in an hourglass. “Kinda seems like a wild goose chase,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

“Yeah.” Avery flicked his lizard eyes at Marty. “You wanna go back to the hotel?”

“And then what?” Marty asked, instantly suspicious.

“Nothin’,” Avery said, with an easy shrug. He motioned to Marty and started walking.

Marty followed, head down. “I’m sure.”

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


End file.
